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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23031562">The Lamplight Letters</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/northelypark/pseuds/northelypark'>northelypark</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Bullying, Chess, Clive and Amelia confront their pasts together, Dark Academia, Depression, Eventual Romance, Eventual depictions of mental health issues, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse and Neglect, Mystery, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Puzzle-solving, School, Slow Burn, Takes place about six years before Unwound Future</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:27:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,061</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23031562</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/northelypark/pseuds/northelypark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Amelia Ruth is selected to attend Dreycott School for Gifted Children in London, an institute with a murky history and a curriculum steeped in puzzles. Her dream of becoming a chess master is put to the test when she becomes ensnared in a deadly game of conspiracy, lies, and secrets between the school's past, present, and the mysterious boy trying to collect all the pieces: Clive Dove.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clive Dove/Amelia Ruth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Dove</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When my grandfather moved in with my family, he brought over sixty years of history with him, all of it centered in London. It was through his eyes I grew to love the city and learnt its secrets – its colorful past, its famous inhabitants, its vast legends, and best of all, the school granddad promised I would one day attend. I pondered London during the day and dreamt about it at night. I imagined in a thousand ways what might happen when I left my small village behind and stepped into its ancient streets. Yet, despite all the questions I asked, all the books I read, everything I learnt leading up to my first trip, nothing could prepare me for my encounter with the ghost boy. </p><p>At the time, I was a small and bony creature, built with sharp elbows, knobbly knees, and wrists thin as church spires. So scrawny was I, in fact, my new socks kept slipping down my legs and bunching round my ankles as I wandered the grounds of my equally new home: Dreycott School for Gifted Children.      </p><p>Its innocuous name belayed its appearance. A circle of massive stone structures topped with battlements and turrets, the school resembled a medieval fortress ripped from a blood-stained tapestry. At second glance, it reminded me of a bank of storm clouds ready to swallow up the surrounding city. At third, a jumble of mountains, ominous bulk softened only by a tattered shroud of ivy.  </p><p>I wondered if the place hadn’t been built in increments, perhaps by a succession of frenzied architects with conflicting blueprints. In any case, it appeared to have no symmetry or continuity whatsoever. Buildings of disparate styles sprawled haphazardly this way and that, flinging sharp corners and jagged rooftops in all directions. An architectural chimera.  </p><p>In the center of this circle lay the lawn, though perhaps ‘lawn’ was too tame a word. Feral bushes and trees lay claim to most of Dreycott’s grounds. They would have seized all of it, had it not been for a lone gravel walk that wandered past stone benches, flickering lampposts, and crumbling statuary half-hidden by rotting undergrowth. Wrapped about the whole mess was a wrought iron fence, a delicate barrier between the school and the more civilized metropolis beyond.  </p><p>To tell the truth, there was an air of abandonment about the place. It was as if I were alone among the grey ruins of some nameless kingdom that had fallen ages ago, devoured by time and trees. Far from being unsettled, I felt drawn to wander deeper. The day had been long – all noise and business. Here I could find silence. Think about everything that had happened and everything that was to come.  </p><p>Had it been only this morning when I’d said goodbye to granddad? So much had happened since then, it felt like a month had passed. As I walked on, I let my twilit surroundings melt into memory, warming into a train station flushed with sunlight.  </p><p>“I can hardly believe it,” granddad had said. Behind us, the waiting train whistled through an amber billow of steam that swirled amid passengers, porters, and luggage-heaped trolleys hurrying in every direction. “Yesterday you were knee-high to a rook and now you’re practically a lady.” </p><p>Up until he’d spoken, the clockwork rush of activity had captured my fullest attention, but now it blurred, the voices and footsteps and creak of oil-thirsty wheels blending as one. Only granddad stood still, leaning on his ivory-topped cane. </p><p>In contrast to the new school uniform I wore, ironed and starched until it felt like a rigid mold, his brown tweed suit fit him just right, creasing comfortably at his elbows, his left hand stowed in his pocket. Pale gold was our one similarity – mine twined in two plaits tied with ribbons and his glinting in the trim beard he sported, flecked with a silver that betrayed his age. </p><p>I tugged at one of my plaits. </p><p>“When you left for Dreycott, you’d already won your first tournament.” </p><p>Granddad chuckled. </p><p>“There’ll be plenty of time for tournaments, Amelia. But right now, you’ve a golden opportunity – to meet new friends, go on adventures, uncover fabulous treasures, solve impossible mysteries! Maybe even slay a dragon, eh?” </p><p>He winked and I crossed my arms. </p><p>“I don’t know about any of that. I’m sure I’ll have more than enough homework to keep me busy.” </p><p>In truth, I was excited for the upcoming school year, but not for the reasons granddad had laid out. I was looking forward to challenging classes, brilliant teachers, and a chance to prove myself amongst the ranks of Dreycott’s fiercely competitive chess club. My new school was not average in the slightest, something that both thrilled and terrified me.  </p><p>“Nonsense.” Granddad raised an eyebrow. “You are a Ruth, aren’t you? Adventures tend to find us, whether we want them or not. But – I daresay you’ll have a few miserable experiences, as well.”  </p><p>  He placed a hand on my shoulder and his eyes, keen as ice, pierced mine. “Now, I’m not trying to frighten you, Amelia. But you must know its not all chess and essays and lessons. It’s people. Out there, you’ll run into all sorts. Every single one like a piece on a chessboard, each with their own patterns, their own roles, their own means of getting through the day.” </p><p>A small smile somehow managed to slip past my strained frown. I quickly hid it.   </p><p>“Granddad, this isn’t another of your chess analogies, is it?”  </p><p>“You didn’t expect to slip away without one, did you?” he replied sternly. He stroked his beard, eyes narrowing. “And don’t think I didn’t see that smile of yours. I’ve been waiting for it all day.” </p><p>“What smile?” I sputtered. “I didn’t smile.” </p><p>“Hmph. If you say so. But now I must tell you something that may seem a contradiction.” He paused. “People are not like chess pieces. Their patterns are not set in stone. They will surprise you. Don’t trust first impressions. See your opponents as individuals, first and foremost. And know a friend, a true friend, is rare as a Fool’s mate.” </p><p>The whistle blew once more, and the conductor issued a final call for passengers. Granddad sighed. “It seems I'm out of time. Here. Take this.”  </p><p>He plucked something from his jacket pocket and held it out to me. It was a piece from his favorite chess set, a king carved from warm polished walnut. “A bit of home.”  </p><p>I let my fingers curl tentatively around it. </p><p>“Are you sure?” </p><p>“Absolutely.” </p><p>I gripped the king, hesitating. The night before, I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do anything childish at the station. I’d wanted to show granddad I was ready to be on my own. But now, with time thinning into seconds, my resolve faltered. Before I could think on it longer, I threw my arms round him and burrowed my head in his jacket, rich with the scent of pipe tobacco and the aged books that fortified the shelves of his study back home. </p><p>He kissed the top of my head, holding me tight. “You’ll write me often?” </p><p>“Every week.” </p><p>“And practice each day?” </p><p>“Of course.” </p><p>“You’ll write your parents, too?” </p><p>I pulled back from him. </p><p>“I’ll try.” </p><p>His gaze softened, searching. </p><p>“I was only curious, Amelia. It’s your decision.” </p><p>I let my eyes drop to the floor.  </p><p>“I wonder –” </p><p>The train whistled yet again, shrill and impatient, ready to leave the crowded station far behind. </p><p>It was time. Placing the chess piece in my pocket, I picked up my suitcase and straightened my shoulders. As I headed to the train, I looked back just once, to wave and capture a final snapshot of granddad. He gave me a solemn nod, pushing his glasses into place in his own funny manner of farewell. Then, I stepped aboard a car and the door shut behind me. On my way to London, to Dreycott – alone. </p><p>And alone I was swept up into the whirlwind of activities that followed my arrival, all tinged by a peculiar feeling I couldn’t quite put into words. I knew Dreycott was no ordinary school, but I wasn’t prepared for the extent, or the nature, of its unconventionalities.  </p><p>When I’d reached the school after a long bus ride, two older pupils, twins wearing matching silver sashes, had been waiting in the impressive common room of the dormitories to greet me and the other new pupils. They introduced themselves as Polly and Castor, though that seemed the only bit of information they were willing to divulge. Once all of us had been accounted for, we were divided into two groups. Castor broke off with the boys, while Polly wasted no time ushering us girls in the opposite direction, marching us through several narrow, winding corridors in sturdy silence. Those brave enough to risk a question she answered only by quickening her pace.  </p><p>Hurrying through such a twisting maze left me so dizzy, I didn’t quite register what was happening when Polly lead us up a curved staircase and down another hallway, this one swathed in blue rugs and tapestries. She handed each girl a numbered key. I stood fingering mine, engraved with a curling‘4’, until Polly spoke up. </p><p>“Unpack. Supper in half an hour. Then rest. Big day tomorrow.” </p><p>These meager words were spoken not with any encouragement or anticipation, but the grim finality of a death sentence, made all the more ominous by her retreating footsteps as she strode away.   </p><p>Exchanging nervous glances, we did as we were told. Beyond the door that matched my key, I found a space just large enough to hold two beds, two desks, two set of drawers, and one narrow window. I set to work unpacking, wondering all the while who my roommate was and where she was at, until a knock signaled it was time for supper.  </p><p>This was a whirlwind of new faces, long tables, clattering forks, and food that tasted too unfamiliar to be of any comfort. Up and down the tables, pupils swapped questions and rumors and worries, creating a restless buzz of anticipation for the new term beginning tomorrow. Anticipation – or dread. Perhaps that was the peculiar feeling that hung over the day’s activities. </p><p>I ate quietly, quickly, and when I was finished, decided to slip back to the dormitories before any of the other girls. On my way out of the dining hall, however, I passed a window and caught sight of the wild, dusky lawn. Suddenly, that was the only place I wanted to be.  </p><p>The trickle of a fountain pulled me out of the memory. It was coming up upon my left, in a small clearing, lit by lamplight and a few dim stars. Nothing like the cobweb of constellations that dusted the sky back home.  </p><p>I slipped my king from my pocket and rolled it between my fingers.  Granddad had told me many times if he hadn’t been so taken with chess, he’d have become an astronomer. If he were here now, I knew he’d have regarded the sparse sky with a shake of his head and a click of his tongue, remarking how much brighter London’s sky had shone in his boyhood.   </p><p>An ache bloomed in my chest. To distract myself, I let my eyes drop from the sky to the fountain. Circling it, I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone at the school tended to it.  </p><p>Its stone basin was worn with age, much of it claimed by pale green lichen. At its center stood a statue of a young girl upon a pedestal, the fine lines that shaped her softened by wind and rain. Her dress bore the formality of an austere age, but her long, loose hair appeared to be tousled by the same breeze that stirred my own. She was holding a wide-mouth vase from which poured a steady trickle of water into a pool at her feet. The girl’s eyes fell downcast, empty and sad. Looking up into those eyes, I felt a flicker of kinship.  </p><p>My attention turned to another gazing up at the girl, one with eyes just as forlorn. A stone praying mantis balanced at the edge of the pool, so realistic I swore I could almost imagine its claws quivering. An odd, lonely pair they made, but they seemed friendly enough.    </p><p>Exhausted, I sat down on the edge of the basin and tried not to think, not to worry, not to analyze the day’s events, or plan ahead for all that would happen in the coming week. Instead, I wanted to simply exist, listen to bird song and fountain splash, feel the breeze brush my hair against my cheek.  </p><p>I closed my eyes, but only for a moment. They snapped open at the sound of a shrill voice drifting across the lawn.  </p><p>“See, I told you. Over there!” </p><p>In the deepening twilight, I could just make out three figures striding towards me through the trees, a short figure leading two taller ones. In a minute, they were close enough that I could identify them. The lone girl of the trio, who looked to be a few years older than myself, broke free from the two boys accompanying her, her stride quickening.  </p><p>“You there,” she said and stopped, towering over me. Her copper ponytail was pulled so tight her eyes bulged, green and cat-like, while a pattern of freckles dotted her nose. When she smiled, it was also feline. “You were right, Stewart.” She glanced to the shorter of the two boys as they joined her. Stewart’s saucer eyes lit up. His face was long and bony, topped with wild hair the color of dead grass.  </p><p>“Of course, I was right. I mean, I wouldn’t drag you out here for nothing, would I? I mean, have I ever dragged you out here for –” </p><p>“Shuttup, Stewart,” the other boy muttered. I had to crane my neck a bit to get a good look at him. He had broad, mountainous shoulders and neatly parted brown hair. Perched upon his nose like a delicate insect were small, wire-rimmed glasses. I couldn’t help but think he looked a bit like a gorilla turned scholar. Both he and the girl wore silver sashes across their chests, the same as Polly and Castor. The girl held out a pale, slender hand. </p><p>“Vivian Cheltenham.”  </p><p>“Amelia,” I said as we shook, “Amelia Ruth.” </p><p>Stewart reached forward as if to shake my hand as well, but Vivian shoved him back.  </p><p>“It appears you’re one of our new arrivals. That must be why you’re still out here.” </p><p>Her words were polite, but leading, weighed with hidden implications like a pawn placed ever so strategically – dangerously – on the chessboard. I decided to proceed with caution. Unfortunately, my mouth couldn’t quite catch up with my brain and all I managed was a pathetic: </p><p>“What?” </p><p>Vivian sighed – the helpless sort you might offer a young child who’d failed a simple task. Placing her hands on her knees, she bent over until we were eye to eye, so close I could count each freckle. When she spoke, her voice was soft and patient as a primary-school teacher.  </p><p>“Listen carefully, Ruth. Surely you must be aware of the high reputation Dreycott strives to maintain. Schools all over the world look to us as an example, a shining paragon of excellence in education. We are the best. Full stop. No qualifiers needed. But only because we expect the best. That’s why we emphasize rigorous discipline here. Every rule, every reward, every punishment, it’s all to help you achieve, so Dreycott can achieve, do you follow? But what happens when even one little pupil ignores the rules, hm?” </p><p>Vivian tilted her head. I could tell this was a speech she’d given before, one she relished delivering.  </p><p>“Anarchy, right? I mean, that’s what it’s called, right?” Stewart looked to his superiors for confirmation, but Vivian only gave him a sharp look. She straightened. </p><p>“When the rules are ignored, our school ceases to function properly. Our reputation plunges. Our credentials are tainted. Someone, then, has to ensure this never happens. Someone has to enforce the rules. That’s us. The Dreycott Patrol.”   </p><p>Vivian stroked her silver sash, which glinted in the dying light like a snake. “I’m Head of Sapphire House, myself. But you’ll learn all about us at the Rite of Riddles tomorrow.” </p><p>“I see.” I hesitated, scrambling for a reply that wouldn’t plunge me deeper into hot water. “Did I... do something wrong?” </p><p>Vivian sighed again, this time in open exasperation.  </p><p>“Must I make this so obvious? You are out past curfew, Ruth. Curfew is eight o’clock sharp. You should know this.”  </p><p>“I’m sorry. I – I must’ve lost track of the time.”  </p><p>Vivian’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. </p><p>“No excuses. Did you even read the school handbook?” </p><p>“Yes,” I tried to steady my voice, but my next words came out in a spill of choppy fragments. “I did read it. But I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t realize it was so late. I’m sorry. I’ll go to bed now.”  </p><p>I started to rise from the fountain’s edge, but the larger boy held up a hand.  </p><p>“Not so fast. She’s probably read the old handbook, Viv.” He turned to glare down at me. “You should’ve received a copy of the revised handbook in your acceptance packet. The revised handbook clearly states that curfew is now eight as opposed to ten o’clock. Which one did you read?” </p><p>“I – I don’t know,” I sputtered. </p><p>“The revised handbook’s statutes are written in couplets,” he continued. “As a mnemonic aide. Was your handbook rhyming?” </p><p>“I can’t –” </p><p>Vivian cleared her throat. </p><p>“It doesn’t matter. All pupils are now bound under the revised handbook, whether they’ve read it or not. Now, according to said revised handbook…” Here she paused, drawing herself to her full height before continuing in a grave sing-song tone, ‘Because you squandered precious time…’” </p><p>She raised her eyebrows, her eyes cat-bright with an ominous glint, anticipating an answer.  </p><p>“…You have to make up a special rhyme?” I answered weakly. </p><p>“‘You have to pay a substantial fine’,” Trevor corrected. “Chapter 5, section 19.”  </p><p>“I believe it’s section 18, but never mind that.”  </p><p>A horrible dread uncoiled inside my stomach.  </p><p>“A fine? But I haven’t got any money with –” </p><p>Vivian held up her own hand. Her eyes shifted towards my lap.  </p><p>“Never mind that. What’s that you have there in your hand?”  </p><p>I blushed, not sure how to explain. </p><p>“It’s – it’s from my granddad. We play chess and –” </p><p>In one fluid movement, Vivian plucked the king from my hand and held it up to the fading light, squinting at it.  </p><p>“Hmm,” She tossed it to the bigger boy. “What do you think, Trevor? Worth anything?” </p><p>Trevor examined the piece.  </p><p>“It’s a bishop.” </p><p>“It’s a king,” I couldn’t help saying.  </p><p>Trevor ignored me. He scratched the surface of the piece with his fingernail. </p><p>“Looks to be made of wood.”  </p><p>“Valuable wood?” Vivian demanded. </p><p>Stewart hesitated. </p><p>“Can wood be valuable? I mean…it’s wood.”  </p><p>“Could I have it back now?” My voice was firm, even as liquid ice slithered inside of me, like a hundred silver sashes turned to snakes.  </p><p>Vivian leaned in close again and smiled.  </p><p>“Your little trinket will do nicely. Now get to the dormitories, please. As the handbook would say, ‘Start to whine, pay an even more substantial fine’.” </p><p>  My mouth popped open. I could think of a hundred things to say but not one came out. My lips floundered to form even a syllable. </p><p>  “Hey, look,” Stewart said, grinning. “She looks like a fish, right? I mean she does, look at her.” </p><p>Vivian straightened and snatched my king out of Trevor’s hand. “Enough, Stewart. Let’s go. I want to check round the pitch one more time.” </p><p>Trevor sighed. </p><p>“We’ve checked there twice already.”  </p><p>Without another glance, the three strode off down the path until their figures were nearly lost in gloom.  </p><p>The shivery snakes inside me were growing colder, devouring me from the inside out. Granddad had entrusted that king to me. It was a piece of home, a small comfort in an unfamiliar place, an encapsulation of that final moment at the train-station. What would become of it? Tucked away in a drawer next to slingshots and confiscated love notes, probably, in an office in some far-flung corner of the school. Who knew if I would ever see it again? What would granddad say when he discovered I’d lost it? </p><p>A terrible helplessness gripped me, the kind I felt when I reached zugzwang during a chess game, that precarious position where any move would be a disadvantage, but to pass, to remain indecisive and stagnant, would be tantamount to forfeit.  </p><p>I began shaking. They couldn’t take that from me. They couldn’t. </p><p>My body finally unlocked itself from whatever trance it had been pinned under. I leapt up from the fountain and raced after the three. </p><p>“Wait!”  </p><p>Vivian ignored me, quickening her pace. I caught up to her, panting as I attempted to match her long stride.  </p><p>“Give it back! Please! I’ll go to bed straightaway. I swear. Just give it back.”  </p><p>Vivian let out a small scoff. </p><p>“What’s so special about it? It’s worthless without the rest of the set.” </p><p>“I told you. My grandad gave it to me before I left for school.” </p><p>“Oh, your grandad?” Trevor shared an amused glance with Vivian, “Must be quite the old nutter if he thinks some chintzy game token is a proper gift.”  </p><p>Vivian and Stewart snickered, their leering faces blurring and contorting as hot, stinging tears crept across my vision. The iciness twisting inside me burned like cold fire, fed by a molten meld of embarrassment and determination. All was rendered dim by my tears, all except my king, still clenched in Vivian’s tainted grasp, her fingers pale, sucking worms against the pristine wood. My head buzzed. My legs tightened, locked up, coiled like springs.  </p><p>With a strangled cry, I lunged sideways, launching myself at the piece. Vivian quickly stepped out of reach and I slammed into Trevor instead.  </p><p>“Watch it!”  </p><p>In one swift move, he shoved me aside. I stumbled, tripped, and hit the gravel, the air torn from my lungs like pages from a book. Gasping for breath, I spit out a mouthful of rocks and blood, the veil of tears over my eyes shattered by the impact and running warm down my scraped cheeks. My knees and elbows dug into the path, burning, pinning me down. </p><p>Somewhere above me, Vivian loomed.   </p><p>“That was a warning, Ruth. Never interfere with the Dreycott Patrol.” Tilting her nose upward, she stepped over me with prim steps and continued on the path. The boys followed close behind, smirking down at me. With trembling effort, I lifted my head, grasping at fistfuls of pebbles. I wanted to chase after them, to rip their stupid little sashes off, to snatch my king back and fly off into the night, onto a rooftop where they could never reach me.  </p><p>Useless.  </p><p>The word seeped out in the tears stinging my eyes, slipping down my cheeks. It weighed on my body pressed into the gravel, still rigid from the shock of hitting the ground. It emerged from my lips as ragged gasps disjointed from the pulse of my heart. I was so useless...  </p><p>If only I could trade out brawn for brain – pushing and shoving for the calculation and cunning of a chess match. I'd win my king back, then. Maybe even their respect. But this was real life. Unfair. Illogical.  </p><p>I let my head drop. At least I might keep a shred of dignity if I accepted defeat. But what would granddad say when he heard I’d –   </p><p>“Give it back, Vivian.”  </p><p>A soft swish of wet grass. Twisting my head to the side, I saw a pair of shoes materializing out of the gloom. My eyes traveled up past a pair of scuffed trousers, a crooked tie, and into the defiant face of a boy with unruly hair standing just off the path, half-lit by the nearest lamppost. His left eye was open merely a slit, hemmed by a dark purple bruise.  </p><p>Vivian stopped again, eyes flashing, mouth twisting. She snapped at Trevor, who moved with surprising speed, making himself into a barrier between me and the boy.  </p><p>Now safe behind her bodyguard, Vivian regained her composure. Once more, her voice took on that pungent sweetness.  </p><p>“Dove? Is that you? I am sorry, but if you have a problem with the Patrol doing its job, you’re going to have to take it up with Professor Rosen tomorrow.” Vivian tauntingly waved my king in the air. “Unless you want Trevor to do some more work on your face. It’s not very symmetrical right now, you know. But that’s an easy fix.”  </p><p>Trevor took a step toward the boy, knuckles popping as he squeezed his fists into fleshy boulders. A crunch of gravel told me that boy had taken his own step forward. A scuffle was imminent.   </p><p>I sat up on my elbows, craning my neck, trying to see past Trevor’s bulky frame, readying myself to scramble to my feet. No matter how the fight started, there could only be one outcome: the boy was an ant and Trevor a boot. But maybe if I could tackle him from behind… </p><p>I caught the boy’s eye and he offered me a terse shake of his head, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. I scowled at him, but his attention had already turned to Vivian. A sharp smile crept over his features. The kind a fox might wear before leading his pursuers on a merry chase.  </p><p>“Vivian, you know, I passed the auditorium earlier. Looks like Professor Xander is still there, getting things ready for tomorrow. Why don’t we have him settle this? We can go over there right now.”  </p><p>Vivian’s expression remained unchanged, but her cheeks flushed scarlet.  </p><p>“I’ve full authority to settle things myself.” </p><p>The boy shrugged his narrow shoulders. </p><p>“Then I don’t suppose you need Trevor here, either. Why do you insist on bringing Trevor and Stewart with you on these nightly patrols of yours? Surely it’s not necessary for you to delegate your authority to others of lower status? Especially against a feather of a first-year like this.” The boy paused, hooking a finger to his chin. “But I suppose picking on someone your own size might cause the mask to slip a bit. And stealing toys is such an effective disciplinary strategy. I’m sure Professor Xander would agree.” </p><p>For a moment, Vivian stood at a loss for words, quivering, it seemed, with a sort of incredulous rage. Whoever this Professor Xander was, that the mere mention of his name was enough to cause such a reaction told me he was not one to be trifled with, even, or perhaps especially, by the Patrol. As if considering this very thought, Vivian’s eyes darted to the boy, to me, and back. Finally, with a scoff, she threw the king onto the ground. </p><p>“Fine. Have it. I’ve had enough of this drivel,” she hissed. “But next time you get in my way, Dove, you’ll have a matching set.”  </p><p>Her eyes flashed green fire in my direction. “I won’t forget this, Ruth.” </p><p>Grabbing her two lackeys by the backs of their collars, she dragged them off down the path, ignoring their protests. When they were well enough away, the boy scooped up the king. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes as he offered me a hand. </p><p>“Are you alright?” </p><p>“I’m fine,” I managed. I ignored his hand and pulled myself up, knowing I was in pitiful shape; sniffing and shaking, hair disheveled, lip cracked, gravel embedded in my knees, socks drooping at my ankles. My flicker of inner fire had utterly abandoned me, as had that final shred of dignity. Leave. Just drop my king and go, I thought, as I brushed myself off, face burning, not daring to look up at the boy.  </p><p>He didn’t leave. Instead, he held out my king to me.   </p><p>“What’s your name?” </p><p>I didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t want to say anything to him. I had my king now. I could slip into the shadows. Return to my dorm. Sleep until this night was a distant memory. Instead, curiosity got the better of me. </p><p>Grabbing the piece from him, I glanced up.  </p><p>I wasn’t sure if I liked that he was a full head taller than me or his nose, which was slight and pointed as Vivian’s. But his eyes intrigued me. They were the same color as the rosewood rook in granddad’s Staunton chess set. His right shone sharp and calculating, a bit wary, while tawny fringe brushed just up against his bruised left. Noticing my gaze, he brushed them to the side, but they immediately fell back into place. Such a small gesture, but there seemed something familiar about it, as if I could almost read the self-conscious thoughts that lay behind it. My fingers grasped for a strand of my own hair, but, under the boy’s own gaze, I let it slip through my fingers. I stood tall as I could, folding my arms.  </p><p>“A feather of a first-year,” I replied, in answer to his question.  </p><p>The boy appeared unperturbed.  </p><p>“That wasn’t meant as an insult.” He indicated his gangly frame. “If you couldn’t tell, I’m something of a feather, myself.” </p><p>I narrowed my eyes. </p><p>“What about calling my king a ‘toy’?” </p><p>“I was guessing. Hard to tell from a distance, especially under this light. Another wild guess, but I take it you like chess?” </p><p>I studied him a second, trying to gauge if he was teasing me.  </p><p>“You sound surprised.” </p><p>“It’s just I’ve never met someone so keen on the game they carried it with them.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Or is that insulting, too?” </p><p>Now he didn’t sound so much surprised as curious. I gripped my king tighter. </p><p>“My granddad gave it to me. Before I left this morning.” </p><p>“From the way you went after Vivian, I figured it must be something important.” </p><p>“Yes. It is.”   </p><p>My eyes drifted down to my baggy socks, wondering if I should elaborate on this terse reply. The pain in my knees was fading, and alongside it, my irritation. </p><p>“It’s Amelia,” I finally said, glancing up just in time to see the boy’s eyes widen. “My name, I mean.” </p><p>“I would say it’s nice to meet you, Amelia.” A small smile crossed his lips, thin and sharp. “But I suppose the circumstances could be nicer.”  </p><p>His smile faded, “Sorry you had to meet Vivian your first day.” </p><p>“At least I’ve gotten it out of the way, now.” I hesitated. “They’re really in charge here?”  </p><p>“Yes, but don’t worry. As long as you remember all 608 of their adorable rhyming rules, you’ll be fine.” </p><p>“But your eye…Did that boy really –” </p><p>“It’s nothing,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve had worse.” </p><p>Looking about the darkening lawn, the boy stifled a yawn. “I don’t know about you, but I’m rather tired.” </p><p>“Yes… it’s been a long day.” </p><p>“Come on, then, we can walk to the dormitories together. You’ll want to get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow. That’s when all the fun really begins.” </p><p>“The Rite of Riddles,” I murmured.  </p><p>With one last glance at the fountain, I followed the boy down the path to the dormitories. We made our way round the corner and entered through a neglected side entrance into a dim hallway.   </p><p>“Just go up the stairs to your left and you’ll be at Sapphire House – the girls’ dorms. The boys’ is down this hall.” </p><p>“Alright.” I hesitated a moment, then held out a stiff hand. “Er, thank you. For standing up to Vivian.” </p><p>He shook my hand. </p><p>“Of course. Look for me tomorrow. At the Rite of Riddles. I’ll be rooting for you.” </p><p>He turned and slipped off down the hallway, fox-quiet. </p><p>“Wait, what’s your name?” I called softly. </p><p>There was no answer. The boy had already dissipated into the shadows, as if blotted from existence. What had Vivian called him? Dove? The name brought to mind pale feathers and mournful cries. </p><p>I shivered again as the hollow silence of the corridor weighed on my ears. In a place as old as this, maybe spirits wandered the grounds. Pupils who had challenged the Patrol one too many times. Boys who could grow spectral wings and fly away before you remembered to ask their names. I could almost believe it, if it wasn’t for the smudge of ink in my palm transferred during our handshake.   </p><p>I started up the steps, exhaustion weighing on my bones like a wet set of clothes. As I made my way to my room, granddad’s words from this morning returned to me, a comforting lullaby, draining any remaining adrenaline. Adventures and miserable experiences. People like chess pieces. People not like chess pieces. Friends rare as Fool’s mate. </p><p>What a funny thing to say, I realized, pausing at the top of the stairs. Both friends and Fool’s mates were rare, but one was good and the other bad. If White happened to make a terrifically large blunder at the beginning of the game, Black had the opportunity to deliver a checkmate in only two moves. Hence the name Fool’s mate. Rare as it was, as a six-year-old I had made the very blunder that had allowed granddad a Fool’s mate during one of our first games.  </p><p>“Extraordinary, Amelia!” he’d said. </p><p>I’d ducked my head, eyes brimming, thinking him angry and astonished at my lack of skill. And then he’d chuckled. I looked up in surprise, blinking away my tears. </p><p>“Y-you’re not mad?” </p><p>“Mad? Gracious, no.” His expression grew serious, “In all my years of playing, I’ve never seen a Fool’s mate with my own eyes. It’s a privilege.” </p><p>“It means I’m bad, doesn’t it? It means I’m stupid.” </p><p>Granddad reached across the table and gently wiped the few tears from my cheek that had managed to leak free.  </p><p>“No, Amelia. If anyone’s the fool, it’s me. For not teaching you the most important rule of chess.” </p><p>“What’s that?” </p><p>He smiled. </p><p>“Blunders are not ends, but beginnings. And the bigger the blunder, the more auspicious the beginning. Now dry those tears. I’m going to teach you a few openings that will knock me out of my chair. In fact, you must promise to go easy on me, because I’ve a feeling once you picked these up, you’ll commandeer the board.” </p><p>He’d winked, I’d grinned, and we’d begun. </p><p>The memory faded. Reaching my darkened room, I kicked off my shoes and socks, then slipped between the covers of my new bed, not even bothering with pajamas.  </p><p>I gazed out the window, letting all the thoughts and questions of the day rush directionless through my mind: granddad, the neglected lawn, the Patrol, the food, and the peculiar ceremony I could only hope I was prepared for tomorrow. But I kept returning to the boy. I didn’t even know his name for sure, but I wouldn’t forget what he’d done, nor how we’d never have met if I hadn’t blundered right into the Patrol by staying out so late. A Fool’s mate if there ever was one. Not the best first impression, but maybe we’d have a chance at another one.   </p><p>Tomorrow, I thought as my eyes slipped shut, tomorrow I will find you in the crowd and ask your name. But only to make certain you’re not a ghost.   </p><p>For the first time since the train station, I allowed myself a smile.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Gemma</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Shhhhhhrreeeeeeeee!</em>
</p><p>The shrill cry shattered my sleep like a bullet through glass, my eyelids fluttering wide. I sat up against the stiff pillow beneath my head. Where was I? A shaft of gray light pushing its way through the narrow window allowed me to dimly distinguish a jumble of crowded furniture. A lumpy bed opposite mine, two desks shoved up against one wall, and two dressers against another, one spitting up socks and hair ribbons.</p><p>
  <em>Shhhhhhrreeeeeeeee!</em>
</p><p>Vague panic doused my mind. It was all wrong. Too cluttered and small and dark. Not a room, but a tin of olives. Where was my window seat, with the frayed yellow curtains and stack of half-finished books? Where was my round table guarded by kings and queens and rooks and bishops all in rank? The late blooming peonies drooping heavy petals over the sides of their green glass bottle? My mirror with hairline cracks in its gold frame?</p><p>
  <em>Shhhhhhrreeeeeeeee!</em>
</p><p>This time the cry was followed by knocking. Faint at first but drawing closer and closer until it landed upon my door, a swift thump, thump, thump that finally cleared the mist from my head.</p><p>Dreycott. I was at Dreycott. In my dormitory. This was my new room. And that noise…what was that noise?</p><p>I swung my legs out of bed and stood, my toes curling in protest against the cold wood floor. Across from me, my roommate’s bed hinted at a mad morning dash. Blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals were piled in uneven mounds that trailed onto the floor and tangled with discarded suspenders and nightgowns. Whoever she was, she had managed to beat me, the one who usually rose and breakfasted at sunrise back home.</p><p>As the high-pitched shrieking began its fourth iteration, I changed into fresh clothes. A fifth shriek. With flying fingers, I re-braided my hair, shoved on my shoes, grabbed my school bag, and exited the room.</p><p>A stream of girls flooded the hallway outside my door, headed left, like a school of silvery fish caught in a current. I slipped into the flow, following it past slit windows casting faint, rippling light across the iridescent tapestries and oil paintings opposite. Every stitch and stroke of paint blended together in a thousand shades of blue. I couldn’t help but think how much fun my younger self would’ve had racing back and forth down the hallway, pretending to be a sea-dragon or mermaid exploring an underwater grotto.</p><p>As quickly as I’d been swept up, the hall let out into a common room, smaller and cozier than the one where I’d first gathered with the other new pupils yesterday. Like the hallway, the room was bathed in blue. Overstuffed beryl sofas and cerulean drapery provided a soft contrast to dark, tightly packed bookshelves and low tables. A yawning fireplace lay between the windows, but the hearth was dark, harboring only ashes.</p><p>Three girls stood to either side, six in total, all wearing silver sashes. Only one was smiling. She had a warm brown complexion and a yellow headband holding back a mass of frizzy curls. The girl beside was her opposite, thin and pale, a miserable expression hidden by her long, dark hair. The next two girls were whispering to each other from across the fireplace as they eyed the crowd, one dainty and doll-like, the other tall and angular, with a fierce glare to match. Finally, there was the only two I’d met, stoic Polly… and Vivian.</p><p>Every speck of me recoiled at the sight of her, my cheeks flaring red as our confrontation from last night rattled through my head over and over. Did she see me? Hard to say. She stood poised farthest to the right, one hand on her hip, the other holding a silver whistle to her lips. Her grip on the whistle tightened, ready for another shrill round, before she caught sight of a few other stragglers who had joined the back of the crowd. She lowered her whistle with a sharp nod of approval.</p><p>“Good. Looks like we're all here.” Vivian folded her arms, her eyes roving sternly over the group. “Now, I know what an exciting day this is for all of you. A speech by our illustrious headmistress and the Rite of Riddles!”</p><p>The Rite of Riddles!</p><p>In my rush to get out the door, I’d completely forgotten about the ceremony. No small feat, considering I’d spent the last two years preparing for it. An electric tingle coursed inside me, currents of anticipation and anxiety twisting together. In just a few hours, I would be up on stage in front of the entire school – my future at Dreycott all but decided. A wave of dizziness nearly knocked me off my feet.</p><p>“Before any of that, however,” Vivian continued, forcing my attention, “A proper introduction is necessary. Most of you know me, but not all. I am Vivian Cheltenham, member of the Patrol and Head of Sapphire House.” She nodded at the other girls lined up next to her. “These are my fellow patrollers. We are responsible for the girls' dormitories, among other things, including the safety and well-being of all of you.”</p><p>Safety and well-being… My fists tightened as last night’s injustices flashed yet again through my mind. At the very least, my king was safe. I had left it tucked under my pillow last night.</p><p>Vivian picked up a nearby book. It was thick with a silver and blue cover, matching the uniform each of us wore.</p><p>“This is the newly revised Dreycott handbook. I helped write it myself. In fact, I was the one to come up with the idea to include rhyming rules, easily memorized. I think it adds a moderate bit of levity.” She paused, looking expectantly at us, as if waiting for a round of applause. A solitary cough arose from somewhere in the crowd. Her expression darkened. “Anyway, every one of you should have received a copy before term began. I trust you all brought yours with you. Read it. Front to back. Several times if you must. This goes for new pupils, as well as old.”</p><p>Vivian began flipping through the handbook, her nails caressing the pages. As she searched the book, I glanced at the girls surrounding me, wondering if they hated the Head of Sapphire House as much as I did. Some of them were glaring at Vivian, while others gazed enviously past her at the line of patrollers. Several exchanged nervous looks. A few girls stood wide-eyed and rigid.</p><p>“Here at Dreycott,” Vivian continued, “We value critical thinking above all else. Honing your wits is essential to succeeding. That is why you will encounter puzzles everywhere.” She looked up. “Puzzles given to you in your classes by your teachers, in the hallways by the Patrol, and even built into the very walls of this school. For every puzzle you solve, you may earn silvs or saphs.”</p><p>Just as granddad had explained to me. I couldn’t help but feel interested as Vivian slipped from her pocket a silver token. “This is a silv. Collect enough of these and you may earn special privileges.” She swapped the silv out for a larger token made of a curious blue-green metal. “This is a saph. Only awarded for solving those puzzles deemed exceptionally challenging. What is their purpose, you ask?” Vivian smirked, “That’s something you’ll have to find out for yourself. You can read more about our system in chapters two and three of the handbook.”</p><p>She tucked the saph away and began flipping through her book again, stopping mid-way through. “There are also a few important changes I would like to point out. Curfew is now eight o'clock for all pupils, save for the Patrol. Lights out by nine.”</p><p>She seemed to be staring right at me as she said this. My cheeks burned.</p><p>“Every pupil will require a Patrol escort after six. Finally, any and all suspicious behavior should be reported directly to me.”</p><p>Around me, girls shifted and muttered to one another. I strained my ears, trying to pick up on the conversations rippling around me, but I caught only snatches.</p><p>“…statue…”</p><p>“Last term…”</p><p>“…hasn’t come back…”</p><p>Vivian cleared her throat, snapping the book shut and tucking it under her arm. She waited for the few remaining whispers to die down; her pleasant smile betrayed by its disconcerting width.</p><p>“I promise that if you follow the Patrol, and by extension the handbook, you will have nothing to worry about.” For a moment, her smile softened into something more genuine, her eyes welling with adoration. “Dreycott is a wonderful place. And Professor Rosen is the best headmistress the school has ever had. I trust we will have no issues.”</p><p>Vivian’s expression hardened again. “But for any of you who fancy playing by your own rules…” She smacked her whistle into her left palm. “I'll have you know that the Patrol is vested with full authority to discipline any pupil as they see fit. If you –”</p><p>A long, low creak, like that of a dinosaur perishing, cut Vivian off before she could say any more. Everyone turned to watch a door opening down the hallway with painstaking slowness. A girl peered out. She had a round face set with equally round glasses and dark brown hair that ran to her waist. She quickly realized everyone was staring at her from the common room and waved.</p><p>“Sorry. Don't mind me.”</p><p>She hopped from her room. With one hand, she tugged up her sock, while her other clutched her shoes to her chest.</p><p>Whispers and snickers scattered about me. Frowning, Vivian pushed her way through the crowd, strode up to the girl, and latched onto her arm just as she was bending over to slip on her shoes.</p><p>“Ah!” The girl stumbled, dropping her shoes as Vivian dragged her back towards the common room. “Hey, wait!”</p><p>Ignoring both her and the increasing laughter, Vivian pulled her back through the crowd to the front.</p><p>“Who is she?” I asked the girl standing next to me.</p><p>“Gemma Mudget,” she whispered back, “Best stay clear of that one.”</p><p>“But wh–”</p><p>“Thank you, Mudget,” Vivian released the girl's arm, “You've given me the perfect opportunity to demonstrate what discipline looks like here at Dreycott.”</p><p>“Er, you're welcome?” Gemma finished tugging up her sock. “But before we do this, can I get my shoes? It will only take a mo. Less than a mo. A millisecond, really. A nano –”</p><p>“No.” Vivian tilted her head toward one of her patrollers, the pale girl, who dragged a wooden stool over. “Stand up here.”</p><p>Gemma complied, puffing out her cheeks, clasping her hands behind her back, rocking on her socked feet. She seemed oblivious to the fact every pair of eyes was fixed on her. I felt my face begin to burn again as I imagined myself in her place. Being confronted alone by Vivian was bad enough, but to be surrounded by this many people?</p><p>“Now, since you just love being the center of attention, Mudget,” Vivian began, “Why don't you sing for us a few verses from Dreycott's official anthem? It’s found on page four of the handbook. Loud and clear, now, so we all can hear.”</p><p>Gemma let the air out of her cheeks.</p><p>“Hmmm. Right. The anthem. Hmmmmm. A-HEM.”</p><p>Putting one hand over her heart and stretching the other out high in the air, Gemma took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She paused, chest swelled. “Er, can I offer up a short prayer to the Muses, first?”</p><p>Vivian scowled.</p><p>“Sing.”</p><p>Gemma sighed. Taking another breath, she lifted her hand higher and sang in an impassioned falsetto:</p><p> </p><p>“Dreycott, dear Dreycott, the finest of schools!</p><p>Known for thy ghosts and million moldering rules!</p><p> </p><p>Muffled snorts and bits of laughter accompanied the verses. I felt a thrill of horror at the idea of mocking the patrol so openly.</p><p> </p><p>Dreycott, dear Dreycott, of thee I shall tell!</p><p>If given the choice, I’d rather go straight to –”</p><p> </p><p>Vivian yanked Gemma off the chair. Her eyes were a blistering green against the furious red of her face.</p><p>“That’s a week of detention, Mudget. Fail to show up and you’ll be in detention the rest of the term with no extracurricular activities.”</p><p>Gemma paled.</p><p>“You can’t do that!” she protested. “Professor Xander –”</p><p>“Professor Rosen has the final word,” Vivian cut in. “And if one more pupil tries to use that…has-been against me, I’ll –”</p><p>“He’s not a has-been!” Gemma snapped, fists balled, “He’s a prestigious actor! A true disciple of Dionysus! A brilliant man of magic! A – ”</p><p>“Doubtful they’ll let you be in the play, anyway, Mudget,” the tall patroller spoke up, arms crossed as she leant against the fireplace. “That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it? You should be grateful they let you come back at all. Yet here you are, stirring up trouble your first day back. Maybe it really is true.”</p><p>For the first time, Gemma seemed at a loss for words. She turned to glare at the patroller, her face pink, and her fists trembling. The patroller grinned.</p><p>“Ooh, you gonna curse me, Mudget? Show me my greatest fear?”</p><p>The common room was silent now, fizzling with tense expectancy. All except Vivian, who seemed annoyed the situation was slipping out of her control.</p><p>“That’s enough, Hortense. We’ve discussed this already.”</p><p>Hortense rolled her eyes, but Vivian had already turned her attention back to Gemma.</p><p>“Come find me in the library after lunch, Mudget. You will write out the lyrics to the entire anthem fifteen times, once for each minute you were late.” Vivian turned to the rest of us, “Do you ladies think this is a fitting punishment for Miss Mudget?”</p><p>Her words were met with a few mumbled replies.</p><p>“Well?”</p><p>“Yes!” the cry rang out in unison.</p><p>“Excellent. Back to business.” Vivian glanced at the clock on the mantle and frowned, “Unfortunately, thanks to Mudget, we’ve run short of time. The Rite of Riddles starts at nine o’clock on the dot, so off to breakfast, all of you. Remember, everyone is expected to attend, not only first-years.”</p><p>It was as though the head girl had waved a magic wand. The mention of the Rite sent a rush of excited conversation through the room and the gathering quickly dispersed down the hallway, herded by Vivian and her five underlings.</p><p>I trailed along at the edge of the crowd, until I came to the door Gemma had crept from earlier. I stopped, my stomach dropping. The brass-plated number read ‘4’. Gemma had come out of my room. Far from waking up earlier than me, she must have been hidden in the cocoon of stuffed animals and pillows piled on her bed, sound asleep up until a moment ago.</p><p>I turned to her shoes, still lying in the middle of the hallway, partially trampled. I bent closer, noting the scuffs on the toe, the thin layer of glitter on both soles, the butterfly sticker attached to one of the buckles. I glanced to my own shoes, polished to a shine. The contrast seemed a warning. Not the only one.</p><p>“Best stay clear of that one.”</p><p>“You should be grateful they let you come back at all.”</p><p>I could only guess that this wasn’t the first time Gemma had crossed swords with the patrol. She reminded me a bit of the boy last night, someone who drew trouble like a hive drew bees. That was the last thing I needed at Dreycott. More trouble. If I was smart, I would pass over the shoes like everyone else and head out to breakfast. Yet something held me back.</p><p>Again, I was thinking of the boy and how he’d been nearly pummeled by Trevor trying to help me get my king. I thought, too, of Gemma, standing alone on the chair. No one had stepped forward to defend her.</p><p>Casting one quick glance at the few remaining girls hurrying down the hallway, I scooped up the shoes and walked back to the common room. Gemma was alone now, sitting on the wooden chair, her head resting on her hands as she stared at the floor.</p><p>“Here.” I handed her the shoes. She looked up, a question puckering her brow. There was something familiar about her, but perhaps that was only because I’d glimpsed her in the dining hall yesterday or passed her in a corridor.</p><p>“We’re roommates,” I said, by way of easy explanation. I didn’t really want to tell her about last night. “And, erm, I’m sorry. About what happened.”</p><p>The words were scarcely out of my mouth before I turned around and started out of the common room.</p><p>“Wait!”</p><p>I stopped, glancing hesitantly over my shoulder.</p><p>“Thanks,” Gemma said.</p><p>“Er, you're welcome.”</p><p>A small, gloomy smile crossed her lips as she slipped her shoes on her feet.</p><p>“I was a real idiot up there, wasn't I? Whenever I tell myself I’m not going to say anything, that I’m just gonna do what I’m told, something goes haywire inside of me." Gemma closed her eyes and sighed tragically, "It’s my fatal flaw.”</p><p>“No.” My own words surprised me. I walked back over to Gemma, tugging fitfully at a loose strand of my hair. “Vivian…she – she can make anyone feel stupid…Not to mention that other girl…Hortense? She was almost worse. What was she even talking about?”</p><p>Gemma studied me a second. Her round glasses lent a certain intensity to her eyes, dark as her hair, that didn’t quite match her jovial demeanor.</p><p>“You’re new, right? So, you don’t…I mean, you haven’t heard…?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Er, nevermind. I’m Gemma.”</p><p>“Amelia.” I cleared my throat. “Anyway, I should be getting to breakfast.”</p><p>Gemma hopped up from her chair.</p><p>“Do you…do you want to walk together?”</p><p>She looked at me with bright, watchful eyes as if she expected me to dissipate through the floor.</p><p>“Oh! Well, erm, I suppose there’s no reason for us not to, if you’re headed there, as well.”</p><p>Gemma expectant frown broke into a wide smile. We started down the hallway together.</p><p>“So, you've already had a run in with Vivian, eh, Amelia?”</p><p>“What? Did – did I say that?”</p><p>“It’s written all over your face. Gosh, I didn't make enemies with Vivian until my second term. Spilt gravy all down the front of her uniform. Accident, of course.” Gemma winked. “But to get on her bad side your first day? You must be quite the rebel.”</p><p>“Rebel?” I sniffed. “Hardly.”</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“I'd rather not talk about it.”</p><p>“Oh, c'mon! I won’t blab to anyone else about it.” She put a hand on her heart. “I swear it on the River Styx.”</p><p>I shook my head.</p><p>“There's not much to tell. I was outside past curfew. That boy, Stewart, must have seen me. He told Vivian and Trevor and, well, they rather gave it to me.”</p><p>Gemma frowned.</p><p>“Picking on a new kid before the term's even started. How low can you get? What did they do, hit you over the head with the handbook?”</p><p>“They did take something from me.” I blushed. “I... tried getting it back.”</p><p>“Wow.” Gemma looked impressed. “Did you?”</p><p>“Sort of.” I fiddled with one of my plaits. “There was a boy who came out of nowhere. He said something that made her give it back.”</p><p>Gemma’s eyes widened behind her glasses.</p><p>“What was his name? What did he look like? Raven hair? Brooding eyes? Pale as a shaft of moonlight? Maybe a trickle of blood in the corner of his gorgeous fanged mouth? Oh, I always wondered if there were vampires at Dreycott! Sometimes, coming back to the dorms at night, I’d look up past the eaves, to the rooftop, and I swear I saw a blood-curdling face leering down at me! Isn’t that spectacular?”</p><p>“Not... really. And the boy last night, he was…well, normal-looking? Brown hair, brown eyes. Tall...ish.”</p><p>“Only ish?” Gemma huffed in disappointment.</p><p>“He had a black eye, too. And Vivian called him Dove.”</p><p>“Dove!?” Gemma stopped, “Wait a minute…you’re not talking about Clive Dove, are you?”</p><p>“Yes. Maybe? I don’t know. Who is he?”</p><p>“He’s – well, we’re not friends or anything. I only really know him by reputation.”</p><p>My stomach dropped for the second time that day.</p><p>“Reputation?”</p><p>Gemma furrowed her brow.</p><p>“All I know is something happened his first year at Dreycott. I wasn’t attending then. And anyone who was won’t talk about it.” Gemma’s voice fell to a whisper. “Apparently, he did something so horrible they expelled him on the spot. And he was gone for months. But one day, he showed up for classes again, like nothing had happened. And no one ever figured out why. Mysterious, right? There’re loads of stories going around. Some say he murdered a teacher in the middle of a lesson! Others say he set fire to the laboratory using only a match and an essay he’d written in blood!”</p><p>“…You’re sure that’s the only Dove at Dreycott?”</p><p>“Oh, it was him for sure! A run in with Dove the Devil.” Gemma frowned. “I probably shouldn’t call him that. Who knows if the rumors are even true? I mean, honestly, we’re sort of in the same sad little boat.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Er…nevermind. Huh. Looks like it’s going to be nice today!”</p><p>I wanted to keep pressing her on Clive, if that was indeed his name, but decided to drop it for the moment as we passed through the front doors of the dormitories and stepped outside. The sun had risen above the trees, strengthening to a warm yellow that dissipated the morning fog and made the lawn look somewhat more docile than the previous night. A line of pupils meandered down the gravel path, to the dining hall directly to the right.</p><p>“Breakfasts at Dreycott are the best,” Gemma continued. “You never want to skip breakfast. The only thing I wouldn’t recommend are the sausages. They have this funny taste, like they’re really old. Like so old they should be in a museum. Musausages.”</p><p>She kept up a steady stream of chatter as we passed through an arched doorway and into the dining hall. It reminded me a bit of the train station from yesterday morning. A vast, bright, bustling space with a yawning ceiling overhead. Immediately, the scent of baking bread enveloped me, mingling with the hum of countless conversations. From high windows, slanted shafts of sunlight spilled in, over rafters, across long tables crowded with students and breakfast platters, and onto the floor like a river of gold.</p><p>We moved to the back of the line, steadily pushing forward until we reached the long counter staffed by a trio of grim, elderly women in white smocks. Grabbing trays balanced with toast and steaming bowls of porridge, I followed Gemma to a quiet corner awash in sun-speckled dust motes.</p><p>As I took bite of toast, creamy butter melting into cold raspberry jam, I noticed the enormous clock hanging opposite the doors. A quarter until nine. My stomach churned and the bite of toast slid sluggishly down my throat. The second-hand seemed to beckon the Rite of Riddles closer as it made its way round the clock.</p><p>Gemma followed my gaze.</p><p>“It’s really not so bad,” she said, popping a spoonful of porridge into her mouth. “I mean, I may’ve sorta botched it. But I don’t think you will.”</p><p>“Granddad says the riddles are quite tricky.”</p><p>“Oh, they are!”</p><p>I tugged at my hair. More than any other aspect of Dreycott, I had quizzed granddad relentlessly on the Rite of Riddles. He told me in countless conversations that it served as a welcoming ceremony for new pupils to demonstrate their puzzle-solving skills. The rite also determined the classes one would attend at Dreycott, with a higher score leading to opportunities for advanced placement and even scholarships. If all this wasn’t nerve-wracking enough, the riddles were timed and had to be solved in front of the entire school. I had spent many a night preparing for it, reading book after book on the subject and asking granddad to throw every riddle he could think of my way.</p><p>“But I’m sure it’ll be easy for someone with a spectacular brain like yours. I saw all those chess books you brought with you!”</p><p>“Perhaps.” I sat up a bit straighter, “But that’s about all I’ve ever been good at. And what are the odds of getting a riddle related to chess?”</p><p>“You never know. The Prof chooses all different kinds.”</p><p>“The Prof?”</p><p>“Professor Xander. He’s the current Rite Master. That’s Antony Xander, by the way, but I’m sure you knew that.”</p><p>“I think that boy mentioned him last night. Who is he, exactly?”</p><p>At the moment, I didn’t really care, but anything to distract myself. Gemma’s eyes widened.</p><p>“Antony Xander! He was only London's foremost actor...several decades back.” She cleared her throat, “I never would’ve agreed to Dreycott if it wasn’t for him. He’s also head of theatre and the production he's putting on this year is going to be absolutely stunning. I'm going to try auditioning for the lead part. I got a pretty small role in last year's play, but I could tell he was impressed. He told me – ”</p><p>Whatever Gemma said next bounced uselessly off my ears, as I returned to watching the second-hand tick steadily onward. Despite all my practicing and my countless conversations with granddad, I still didn’t feel ready. I wished he were here. Wished he could give me a bit of last-minute advice. Wished I could see his normally stern features lift into a smile when I solved the riddle in time. If I solved the riddle in time…I imagined that smile fading into a frown of disappointment and confusion. How could I have failed after all the help he’d given me? After all those nights he’d argued with my parents to allow me to attend? I squeezed my eyes shut, tugging at my hair so hard it stung. No! I couldn’t let that happen!</p><p>“– melia?”</p><p>I blinked.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“I said, are you ready to go?” Gemma scraped the rest of the porridge from her bowl. “We should head over to the auditorium now. I want to get a good seat. You get to sit on stage.”</p><p>The dining hall was beginning to clear out now, everyone headed in the same direction. My stomach twisted again.</p><p>“On stage? Ugh, alright, let’s go.”</p><p>We handed in our trays and left the dining hall, cutting across the lawn to the auditorium, which lay to the far right of the grounds.</p><p>Unlike many of the other buildings at Dreycott, the auditorium had a rosier exterior, a red brick façade, each corner capped with a round-topped turret. It would’ve looked like a fashionable London theatre, save for the fact it was sunk into a copse of trees that had only just failed to outgrow it.</p><p>The place was dim and nearly packed by the time we got in. All around me the shadowy outlines of pupils were sliding into seats, talking and fidgeting. A group of distinguished looking adults, teachers presumably, sat close to the front, as did the patrollers, sashes glinting faintly. Near the stage, an elegant woman in a silvery suit was talking to a pudgy, balding man fiddling with his tie.</p><p>“Deputy Headmaster Harrier,” Gemma said, indicating the man. “He’s pretty nice. And that, is the headmistress, Professor Rosen.”</p><p>“Is she…nice?”</p><p>Gemma chuckled weakly.</p><p>“Remove the ‘n’ and yes, she is that.”</p><p>As Gemma guided me over to the right side of the stage, a single spotlight switched on, illuminating a stone podium with a microphone. Behind the podium, the other first-year students sat on two tiered benches, half-hidden in shadow, gazing out at the hushed crowd.</p><p>I swallowed. My feet felt like they were melting into the floor. Gemma gave me a little nudge.</p><p>“You’ll do amazing! Gotta find a seat now! Try to find me! I’ll wave!”</p><p>“But wh– ”</p><p>She was already off, hurrying up the center aisle. I turned back to the stage.</p><p>Alright, Amelia. Remember what granddad would say. ‘Focus on the center.’ Right now, your center is solving whatever riddle they give you. Forget everything else. Focus. Focus!</p><p>Steeling myself, I darted up the steps, onto the stage…</p><p>And straight into Professor Rosen.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Rite of Riddles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>”Ah!”</p><p>The exclamation leapt from my mouth, nearly taking my heart with it. Digging heels to floor, I halted scarcely short of impact with the professor as she stepped behind the podium. Her piercing glare made its own impact, petrifying me in my fumbled stance. The intensity in her eyes reminded me of granddad’s, but instead of his familiar warmth, her gaze reflected icy disbelief. </p><p>I realized I was gawking and darted my eyes anywhere but that transfixing stare. To her silver hair, shoulder-length, rod-straight. Her thin, arched brow. Her high cheek bones. Her pinched lips, pressed firmly together in a barely-concealed scowl. Her sharp chin, a knife-like V as she peered down at me. </p><p>With a small twitch of her jaw, she restrained her shock, her expression locking into what I could only assume was its default –cold scrutiny that made me feel as though I was being tested before the Rite had even begun. My eyes dropped under the weight of her analysis, catching a brief, glinting flash of a praying mantis pendant, before reaching the floor. </p><p>“Excuse me,” I mumbled to my shoes. Or that was what I meant to say. The first part came out so soft I was sure the professor only caught a squeak before I spun a half circle and darted over to where all the other first-years sat. Their eyes followed me as I sank into the back row, my face burning from the heat of the spotlight and the unwanted attention. </p><p>Professor Rosen remained where she was, eyes probing the back of the stage. I hunched lower in my seat, wanting the shadows to swallow me entirely. Finally, her features shifted into a cool indifference. She smoothed her skirt, turning back to podium and the larger crowd beyond. </p><p>”Good morning, pupils,” she said to the now silent auditorium, her shoulders square as she detached the microphone and brought it to her pursed lips.</p><p>“I want to welcome you all to another year at Dreycott School for Gifted Children.” Her voice echoed through the hall with a strong solemnity that retained an undercurrent of silky elegance. She looked over her shoulder to all of us sitting behind her, indicating us with a curt sweep of her hand. “For those sitting here on stage, I want to extend a special greeting. I am Professor Rosen, the headmistress here at Dreycott.”</p><p>I cautiously sat up, my curiosity overtaking my embarrassment. In all my time preparing for Dreycott, I had wasted little thought on what the headmistress would be like. Even now, I wasn’t sure what to make of her. Her sensible silver blazer and skirt, pinstriped and tailored to perfection, spoke of a dedicated professional. But her commanding presence, how the entire auditorium had shifted its axis of focus to her like planets orbiting a silver star, spoke of another side. If Dreycott was a chessboard, Professor Rosen would be the Queen. </p><p>My face caught fire all over again. And I had almost barreled her over! First the Patrol, now the headmistress herself. There could be no more mishaps. Not if I was to be seen as a gifted pupil rather than a bumbling klutz. I sat up straighter, placing my hands in my lap as the Professor went on. </p><p>“For over six hundred years, our school has provided extraordinary pupils with an equally extraordinary education. Our goals are simple in their elucidation, complex in their execution: to train pupils to seek out the mysteries that shroud our world, to solve the puzzles that will lead humanity forward, and to seal up knowledge they have gained and preserve it for the benefit of future generations. You have all been selected as those young men and women most likely to achieve these noble goals. But make no mistake. The entrance exam you took over the summer was only the beginning. You will now be tried and tested in myriad ways.”</p><p>Professor Rosen paused to walk past the front row of first-years, like a general surveying a new batch of troops, scrutinizing each one of us in turn. </p><p>Now that my mortification from nearly running her over had faded, I felt a fresh fear begin to bubble up inside me. Vivian was right about one thing. Dreycott expected the very best from its students. The Rite was my chance to show that I could meet that standard; that I was worthy of being selected. It could be my only chance. Pupils who perfomed poorly were often sent home before classes had even begun. My stomach squirmed with nervouness. I wouldn't let that happen to me.</p><p>”...not all of you will be able to overcome the challenges awaiting you. And if you manage to complete this current term, know that the next one will always be more difficult.”</p><p>These words brought my attention back to the professor. She paused again, letting this prediction hang over the audience like a constellation portending the possible fate of each of us on stage. “I say this not to discourage you, but to help you understand that succeeding at Dreycott will require all you have and more. Strive for excellence in all you do. This is Dreycott’s motto. One that the school itself strives to uphold.”</p><p>The professor's voice slowed, becoming more careful. “I understand that some of you are still concerned by the incidents that occurred last term. I have taken every possible measure to ensure that such incidents will never happen again. These measures will involve some changes here at Dreycott, changes that will affect all of you in one way or another, but I assure you that they will be implemented first and foremost for your safety.”</p><p>Muttered conversations sifted around me, as other-first years wondered aloud to each other. I tugged at one of my plaits. What incidents was she referring to? I recalled what Vivian had told us earlier about the new curfew and her demand that we report any suspicious behavior to her. Was this related? The ghost boy, <em>Clive’s</em>, wary expression flashed through my mind followed by a hollow sinking in my stomach. After all the rumors Gemma had shared with me about him, silly as they were, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was somehow involved. No. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Besides, if it were true, how could he still be enrolled at Dreycott?</p><p>Another thought hit me, one that gave me a spark of hope. Was Professor Rosen talking about the Patrol? What if she was curbing their power after hearing of how they abused it? The spark suddenly died. But if so, she had already failed. Vivian’s behavior since I arrived was a clear indication of that. </p><p>“In this safe environment we will work together to maintain, I hope that every one of you will meet this term with a fierce desire to achieve.” Professor Rosen stood a little taller. “Now, before we begin the Rite, I would like to make a special announcement. Wesley Bordeaux, if you would?” </p><p>Up from the front row, a young man with golden hair, broad shoulders, and an even broader smile mounted the stage. Professor Rosen had, in the meantime, retrieved a length of silvery material. When Wesley reached her side, she held it out. “I hereby dub Wesley Bordeaux the newest member of the Dreycott Patrol.” </p><p>The crowd broke into applause as the headmistress looped the material diagonally across Wesley's puffed chest and pinned it into place, forming the familiar sash. She turned back to the audience. “The Dreycott Patrol is comprised of fourteen pupils who have shown themselves to be especially honorable, diligent, and disciplined in all aspects of life here at Dreycott. They are an integral part of our school, helping to maintain order and provide guidance to all other pupils.”</p><p>I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Far from addressing any concerns, the professor seemed be giving the Patrol her full support. Honorable? Diligent? My face prickled with heat again. If she had seen them through my eyes, she would have to swallow those words. Surely she had some inkling of the Patrol’s actions? </p><p>“May each and every one of you strive to reach their lofty ranks. And for any young women who feels ready; we have an opening for a Patroller to join Miss Cheltenham in overseeing Sapphire House. Please speak with her if you would like more details.”</p><p>I grimaced, disoriented and sick. Who would willingly choose to work alongside Vivian? How could Dreycott ever be safe if everyone was encouraged to join a gang of bullies? There had to be a mistake. Was Vivian somehow able to keep the Professor in the dark? Or worse, did the Professor actually approve of her behavior? I hoped she would say something to address this discrepancy, but she merely concluded her speech.  </p><p>“And now, without further ado, I shall hand things over to our very own Professor Xander.”</p><p>A second round of applause filled the auditorium as Rosen and Wesley returned to their seats. The Patrol clapped the loudest, offering Wesley slaps on the back as he passed. I had the sudden urge to step up to the podium and let fly all that had happened since I arrived yesterday so everyone could hear. It would be so easy. The podium was so close, beckoning me forward.</p><p>No. I couldnt do it. The Rite was too important. Instead, I remained in my seat, letting my anger smolder inside me. Gradually the clapping tapered off, until even the Patrol had wearied of it. The stage remained empty. Sitting up, I craned my neck to see if Professor Xander was making his way toward the front, but the light from the stage reached only as far as the Patrol, stirring in their seats, looking to one another in… apprehension? It was difficult to tell.</p><p>And then with a dull clunk, the single spotlight switched off, leaving the auditorium swimming in inky black. I gasped, but it was inaudible above the louder cries of alarm echoing throughout the auditorium. Before my eyes had a chance to grapple with the darkness, the spotlight returned, revealing a pale circle of light where the podium had once stood. A terrible, unearthly voice rang out, shaking the stage beneath my feet. </p><p>“<em>Ladies and gentlemen!</em>”  The spotlight dimmed to a murky red as a figure slowly rose up from beneath the stage, swathed in billows of fog. “<em>Prepare yourselves! For the moment of reckoning, the Rite of Riddles, approaches!</em>”</p><p>The full glory of the stage lights burst to life. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting as the figure was finally illuminated before us. An imposing, god-like man? Instead, standing there in the middle of the stage was a tall gentleman, all arms and legs, in a bright red waistcoat, purple necktie, and pinstripe trousers. </p><p>With a flourish, he tossed the microphone he was holding into the air, pivoting around on his heel to face us first-years as it soared overhead, and caught it behind his back with a wink. Angular glasses framed his eyes, while a dash of a mustache twitched above his smirk, his graying hair slightly mussed. He appeared around the same age as Professor Rosen, although it was difficult to say for sure. Where the headmistress’s countenance seemed to be built by lines, his worked around them, his smile softening the many creases near his eyes and mouth in a way that made me think he told far too many jokes. He turned back to the audience. </p><p>“Are we sufficiently dazzled?”</p><p>The question was met by a scattered round of applause, one that sounded as though some in the audience were clapping furiously and others hardly at all. The Patrol, especially, did not appear dazzled in the slightest. They sat with arms crossed and faces stony. My own clapping was subdued. There was something almost irreverent about the professor’s display, like a cheap magic show, that verged on making of mockery of the Rite I had been waiting so long to pass. Yet this was challenged by the Professor himself, posture upright, strong hand gestures leading his question like a maestro leading an orchestra, capturing the audience’s attention just as much as Professor Rosen had. Xander danced on a fine line between elegance and gaudiness and I wondered if it was not this tension which so divided the crowd. </p><p>“Welcome back to Dreycott, one and all!” The Professor looked over his shoulder, to flash us another grin. “And an especially warm welcome to those waiting so patiently behind me. Your time has nearly arrived, I assure you. But first, a few brief words..." The Professor paused, before speaking again with the hushed reverence his performance had lacked. "The Rite of Riddles – a tradition that goes back centuries. I know some of you must be thinking that traditions like this can be … stuffy and perplexing. Often, with time, their original meaning is worn away, like a cliff eroded by the sea over countless ages. Isn’t our school all about moving forward? Challenging old notions and making new discoveries? What purpose does the Rite serve? Practical, perhaps? It is true, the Rite will help determine which Branch you will join.”</p><p>Xander spread his arms as a banner unfurled above him, emblazoned with a blue faceted stone. “Some of you are Seekers. Leaders, at the forefront of new discoveries and fresh horizons. Courageous, bold, and adventurous, you uncover new puzzles.” </p><p>Another banner unfurled on the right side of the stage, a silver praying mantis shimmering upon it, its claws held aloft. “Some of you are Solvers. Unlocking the secrets of the world around you, lost in study, your brilliance and wit unmatched. Thoughtful, quick-witted, and precise, you not only solve puzzles but turn them upside down.”</p><p>A final banner fluttered down to the left, depicting a black key with jagged teeth. “And some of you are Sealers. You ensure the knowledge of the world is not forgotten and protect it from those who would use it for ill intent. Creative, intuitive, and compassionate, you create puzzles.”  </p><p>Granddad had told me all about the three Branches at Dreycott and how they determined which classes one attended. I had known for as long as I could remember I wanted to be a Solver. Of course, everyone at Dreycott was expected to solve puzzles, but the Solvers were the best of the best. They were the ones who went on to be scientists, doctors, mathematicians… chess masters. My heart thudded in my chest. This was the first step to that far-off goal. </p><p>The lights dimmed blue as Xander continued. </p><p>“You may think of Seekers, Solvers, and Sealers each as a branch on a tree, hence the name. Each branch has its own strengths and weaknesses, each adding up to something larger. All three are needed to form our school. The riddle you will solve here on stage will help determine your own strengths and weaknesses and thus your place at Dreycott.”</p><p>He paused. “Even still, this is not the true purpose of the Rite. Riddles are old as time, spanning cultures and languages and centuries. They invite us to look at our world from another angle, turning the familiar into the unknown and back again, like a lamp moving through the shadows. They expose the ways we think, down to their primal roots. They remind us that things are never so simple as black and white or three Branches on a tree. If you understand this, then you have begun to understand the true purpose of the Rite.” Xander glanced over his shoulder again, now framed by the banners above, to all of us waiting in the dark. </p><p>“Shall we begin?”</p><p>The words had barely left his lips when something overhead began to slowly descend onto the stage, lowered by creaking ropes and groaning pulleys. Halfway there, I realized it was an enormous hourglass housed in a metal framework, monstrously sturdy in its construction, a round clock set on top and a wheel set in front. Hammered into the bases and columns of the frame were swirling patterns. I caught glimpses of fruit, butterflies, bones, and agonized faces. As it settled onto the stage with a dull thud, I couldn’t help but wonder if the hourglass were a mere garish prop or something ancient. </p><p>“In the Rite of Riddles,” Professor Xander said, “The only tool you are allowed is your own mind. No paper, no pencils, no visuals of any sort. As soon as I turn this hourglass, you will have exactly five minutes to solve the riddle given to you. Now, then. Let our first pupil come forth!” Professor Xander spoke clearly into his microphone, “Maisy Alben!”</p><p>In the row in front of me, a girl stood and stepped into the light. I leaned forward, eager to hear the first riddle. </p><p>“Miss Alben, are you ready? I'll repeat the riddle twice before turning the hour-glass.”</p><p>“I’m ready, Professor,” Maisy replied, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Xander spoke his next words in a clear, rhythmic tone.</p><p>
  <em>“A sun atop a line destroys a pillar with its shine, til its light goes blind and only pools are left behind.”</em>
</p><p>The professor repeated his words before turning the wheel on the hourglass. Slowly, the glass turned over in its metal holdings, allowing the sand to make its descent. The silence hanging over the auditorium allowed me to catch the soft, whispery sound of the grains as they began to fill the bottom of the glass. Could Maisy hear it, too? I couldn’t see her face, only how rigid and stark her whole body looked under the merciless glare of the stage lights. Instead of my view from the back, I tried imagining myself her place. The stage glazed over. I spoke the riddle to myself, trying to parse it out.</p><p>A sun atop a line destroys a pillar with its shine… </p><p>Pillars made me think of ancient civilizations. Egyptian pillars carved to look like reeds. White Grecian pillars standing alone among ruins. Chess pieces reminded me a bit of pillars. In fact, when I was younger, I would line the pieces up on the table and place the board on top of them. I’d peer through the pieces, cast in shadow, into the dark, peculiar house I’d made, wishing I could enter. Pillars were used for support. They bore the weight of something above them. In the case of the riddle, this was most likely the sun. But, in turn, the sun destroyed the pillar beneath it with its rays. By burning it, perhaps? </p><p>Til the light goes blind and only pools left behind…The sun burned the pillar… before setting for the evening? I wasn’t sure of the ‘blind light’ bit yet. But the fact the sun destroyed the pillar had to mean it couldn’t be an ordinary one of stone or marble. Wood perhaps? Could the pillar be a tree trunk? But the pools left behind bit…what if the sun melted the pillar, instead?</p><p>I jolted out of my reverie as Maisy seemed to come out of her own. Her shoulders relaxed, two minutes to spare.</p><p>“I’ve solved it," Maisy said. Professor Xander brought the microphone close to her. “A sun atop a pillar…that can only be one thing. A candle.”</p><p>“Would you care to share your reasoning?”</p><p>“I tried imagining something hot atop something long and slender. I thought of torches, first. Naturally, this lead me to candles. The flame melts the candle and leaves pools of wax behind.”</p><p>“It seems your line of thinking was most helpful. That is correct!” A round of applause resounded throughout the auditorium. Maisy waved to the crowd. “Excellent, Miss Alben. You may take your seat.”</p><p>Maisy returned to the front row, sporting a triumphant grin. I sat back, sharing a bit of her relief. This wasn’t so bad. I could do this.</p><p>“Next up, Shelby Astley!”</p><p>I heard a small gasp. The pale boy sitting next to me rose to his feet, wringing his hands. Before reaching the light, he shook his head and broke his hands apart, letting his arms swing loosely by his sides as he marched up to Professor Xander.</p><p>“I’m ready.”</p><p>“Alright, Mr. Astley…</p><p>
  <em>In the morning, my feasts continue unended, in the afternoon I rest hidden and suspended, in the evening I emerge, appearance amended."</em>
</p><p>Professor Xander repeated the riddle and turned the wheel on the hourglass, once more transforming time into little grains of sand tumbling down a chasm.</p><p>I closed my eyes. Time was an important part of this riddle. Morning, noon, and evening…Someone who ate in the morning, slept in the afternoon, only to come out in the evening, somehow transformed. What was something or someone who changed at night? I pictured the moonflowers in the garden back home, unfurling their petals only after the sun had gone down. They could be said to be resting in the afternoon, as well, but what about feasting in the morning? It didn’t fit.</p><p>And what about the hidden and suspended bit? Spiders lay suspended in webs and birds nested high in the air. Birds…A chick could said to be suspended in its egg, hidden from the world until it hatched. Maybe morning, noon, and night weren’t literal, but referred to different stages? Even so, that didn’t explain the ‘morning stage’ of constant eating. </p><p>I tugged at my hair. I felt like I was on the right track. The answer hovered on the edge of my thoughts. I glanced back to the hourglass, two minutes left, then over to Shelby. He was turned away from the audience, his eyes screwed tight and his fists clenched at his sides. </p><p>I returned my attention to the riddle, going over it again and again. Feasts unended, hidden and suspended, appearance amended. Morning, noon, and night. Three stages. Stages…there were lots of animals that went through distinct stages more so than a chick did. A frog, for one. Its lifespan marked by metamorphosis. But that wasn’t the only animal. The word metamorphosis had finally given me the answer. The life-cycle of a butterfly, from caterpillar to cocoon to winged insect.</p><p>I opened my eyes triumphantly. Shelby was still making the same strained face as before. Only a minute left now…I watched with hollow horror as the remaining sand slipped to the bottom and the clock at the top of the hourglass dolefully chimed.</p><p>Shelby’s eyes flew open.</p><p>“Wait, no! It’s a baby! The answer is a baby!”</p><p>The clock chimed one final time, Shelby panting as he looked hopefully up at Professor Xander.</p><p>“Would you care to explain your reasoning, Mr. Astley?”</p><p>“Erm, well, babies eat a lot in the morning, nap in the afternoon, and…and in the evening, they…”</p><p>There were snickers from some of the first-years around me. Shelby sighed, shaking his head.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Mr. Astley. That answer is incorrect.” Professor Xander did sound truly sorry, “But a valiant effort, nonetheless. You may return to your seat.”</p><p>“Sealer,” the boy behind me whispered. ”If they don't expel him first.”</p><p>I watched Shelby slump back into his seat, picturing myself in his position. The embarrassment of running into Professor Rosen seemed nothing compared to sitting in silence, applause replaced by the whispers of your classmates and the judgmental gaze of the Patrol. My stomach tightened. </p><p>Still, I had solved the riddle before Shelby, which gave me a bit of hope. Perhaps if I kept solving them, building my confidence as I went, by the time it was my turn, I could tackle it in less than a minute, like a series of well-thought moves leading to a brilliant capture in chess. That would show the Patrol I was not one to be trifled with. I sat on the edge of my seat, eager for the next riddle.  </p><p>“Percival Aught!” </p><p>The boy behind me stepped forward. He seemed to have eyes only for the Patrol. I saw him glance their way repeatedly, even as he was listening to his riddle. </p><p>
  <em>“I am your humble servant, your loyal friend, the one who will preserve your memory until the very end. Though you cannot see me, you can break me. Patience and I will be on the mend.” </em>
</p><p>“Easy,” the boy scoffed, after barely a minute, “The answer is bones. 'Break' and 'mend' practically gave it away.” </p><p>”Correct!”</p><p>The loudest applause yet rang out as Percival returned to his seat, brandishing a wide grin.</p><p>“I’ll be Head Boy before you know it,” he whispered to his friend. My queasiness from earlier returned, boiling into irritation. Was he really trying to impress the Patrol? I wasn’t sure I could top his time, but I wanted to try. And my turn was swiftly approaching. Most of the pupils after Percival were quick to solve their riddles, with so few failures I could count them on my hand. It was a continual relief to me that I was able to solve many of these riddles myself. Beneath this growing confidence, however, was a wavering, hesitation. What was easy while hidden in the shadows had to be trickier under the bright stage lights and the glare of hundreds of eyes. </p><p>Before long, Professor Xander had arrived at the ‘R’s. </p><p>“…Edwin Rhys…”</p><p>“…Lana Rollins…”</p><p>With each passing name, I felt my body tighten like a coiled spring, my attention narrowing in focus, sharpening, until every muscle, every sense, was trained on the Professor. My mouth went dry and my chest felt paper-thin, barely able to contain my pulsing heart. </p><p>“Amelia Ruth.”</p><p>I stood mechanically, as if the sound of my name left my body no choice, and approached the front of the stage, my eyes watering as I stepped into the light. </p><p>Time had slowed when I bumped into Professor Rosen, but now it seemed to stop altogether. My head, suddenly so heavy my neck threatened to snap, swayed first to Professor Xander and then to the crowd, the Patrol staring up at me in the front row. Vivian sat right in the middle, her hands placed primly in her lap and her expression unreadable. My fear gave away to anger, cold fire leftover from last night, rushing through my veins, flooding my chest. I tore my eyes from the Patrol and to the countless faces cast in shadow beyond them. Though lost to darkness, I knew Gemma was out there. The ghost boy, Clive, as well. I wished I could see them instead. Or better yet, I wished grandad could replace Vivian in the front row. His stern express both a comfort and a challenge. </p><p>“ –eady to begin?”</p><p>I swung my head back to the Professor, who was looking at me expectantly. His expression swam as my alarm let in a rush of dizziness. Had he already given me the riddle? </p><p>“Are you ready, Miss Ruth?” he repeated.</p><p>Several snickers from behind me trailed at the heel of his words. </p><p>”I, er...” No use. My voice was already lost down a slope of cold humiliation. I could only stare at the Professor, mouth agape.</p><p>Come on! Do something! </p><p>As if snatching at a rope moments before I tumbled into the abyss, my hand caught one of my plaits and gave it a sharp tug, finally releasing the words I needed. </p><p>“Y-yes.” I swallowed, meeting his gaze head-on, “I’m ready.”</p><p>“Alright, Miss Ruth.” Professor Xander cleared his throat, “Listen carefully.”</p><p>I nodded and shut my eyes, trying to block out the silent chaos of the last few seconds, placing all my feelings in an invisible envelope and sealing it. There would be time to deal with them later. Right now I needed to focus, shut everything else out but the professor’s words:</p><p>
  <em>“The dead hold me always, the living on occasion. Beyond the powers of speech and sword, I too am effective at persuasion. Those who seek me, must take care to abstain. For even a soft sigh will cause my powers to wane.”  </em>
</p><p>I found myself mouthing the words aloud. Having it written on paper would have been easier, but I was used to visualizing chess moves in my head.</p><p>
  <em>The dead hold me always, the living on occasion.</em>
</p><p>I thought of a funeral, a still figure lying in a casket, awaiting burial. People were sometimes buried with things they loved best in life, carefully tucked beside them or clasped in their arms. But what was something the dead always held, but the living only once in a while? </p><p>Beyond the powers of speech and sword, I too am effective at persuasion. Speech persuaded by pulling at the listener’s heartstrings or appealing to her rationality. The sword, I took to mean not any one sword, but physical force, which could persuade through fear and might. Perhaps the riddle wasn’t speaking of a tangible object, either, but a concept? Something that had the ability to change the minds of those subjected to it. Something other than words or strength. </p><p>
  <em>Those who seek me, must abstain. </em>
</p><p>To abstain – to keep oneself from doing something. This made sense in the context of the first line. The dead abstained from everything, so it was easy to see how they held whatever was the answer to the riddle. But back to the second line… how could you persuade by not doing something? </p><p>
  <em>Even a soft sigh will cause my powers to wane. </em>
</p><p>This seemed the most curious line of all. If something so small and insignificant could take away the riddle answer’s power, could it truly be said to have power? Power enough to persuade? I ran through the riddle in my mind again and again, trying to see how each line fit into a coherent whole.</p><p>Softly at first, but increasingly more distracting, I could hear the sand running in the hourglass, pulling my five minutes with it. A constant <em>shhhhhhhh</em> as if the auditorium itself were telling me to be quiet and give up.</p><p>Maybe if I–</p><p>
  <em>Shhhhhhhhh.</em>
</p><p>I could try to–</p><p>
  <em>Shhhhhhhhhhhh.</em>
</p><p>If I could just–</p><p>
  <em>Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!</em>
</p><p>In a flash of frustration, I opened my eyes. They took in the audience yet again, vast as a battalion of chess pieces, silently closing in, Vivian leading the charge. She wore an expression that hovered between boredom and amusement, like I'd fallen into a trap she'd set herself. I quickly shut my eyes again, but I could still see her, my mind shifting her vague expression into a decisive smirk. Waiting for me to fail. </p><p>The hour glass's whisper grew more incessant, the sand running down to its last grains. Panic set in. In the thin, strained darkness of my sealed eyes, the chess pieces that made up the audience grew to towering proportions, looming above me, pale as Vivian's gloating face. I could feel their cold indifference. I was just another pawn to be captured and set aside.</p><p>No! I couldn’t lose. I had to give an answer. Maybe…maybe I could guess? I swallowed back a growing knot in my throat.  Getting the answer wrong was almost worse than saying nothing at all. Think, think! Another glance at the hourglass revealed only thirty seconds. The trickle of sand was soft as a whisper, yet somehow deafening, roaring in my skull, replacing my heartbeat. If only it would let me think. If only it would be quiet!</p><p>Quiet. The word lifted me from my panic, even as my body remained root in place. It was a familiar feeling, one I knew from countless chess games with granddad, moments where I’d thought I was backed into a corner only to realize all at once there was an escape right in front of me. </p><p>“I know the answer,” I managed to choke out. “It’s silence.”</p><p>Professor Xander raised his eyebrows as he brought the microphone closer to me.</p><p>“Would you mind repeating yourself, Miss Ruth?”</p><p>“The answer is silence.” My voice trembled, fragile as glass. </p><p>"Care to explain your reasoning?"</p><p>“Well, you see, I...I...”  Was it my imagination or did I hear whispers coming from the audience?  My voice broke. I couldn't move. The chess pieces were an impenetrable wall around me now. </p><p>Check. </p><p> Vivian shared a self-satisfied glance with the patroller next to her. The white glare of the lights above drew a stinging heat to my face while my heart froze in my chest. Both sensations hit my stomach at once, overwhelming me with nausea. Professor Xander and the Patrollers behind him tilted before my eyes, swaying, spinning, nearly blotted out by the black spots eating at the edges of my vision. My legs and arms tingled, icy and numb. Warm bile rose in the back of my throat. Through the hot and cold, black and white, my eyes fixated once more on a smile that was no longer the product of my imagination. The same one Vivian had given me when she watched me fall to the ground. And behind her, above her, all around us, faceless kings and queens, knights and bishops, handing down silent judgement. Closing in. No escape.</p><p>My throat clenched. My stomach shuddered. Vomit. I was going to vomit.</p><p>"– melia!"</p><p>Someone called to me, but their words were muted by the dull thump of my heart. My legs carried me off the stage, the shadows of the auditorium swallowing me up, until I burst through the empty foyer, and into the cool, bright morning. I swerved and stumbled, my knees hitting hard gravel, the pain barely registering as I leaned into the shade of a clump of trees and heaved, my vision blurring into a sickening kaleidoscope of green and brown. I finished in seconds, but the aftermath left my body shaking, my skin clammy, my insides hollow. I didn’t dare straighten or even move. Tears stung my eyes. </p><p>Breathe. Just breathe.</p><p>I repeated this several times. It helped a little. Within a few minutes, my dizziness subsided, my head stopped pounding, and my stomach settled. Shame rushed in to replace these symptoms as the full realization of what I’d done hit me. How could I have run out like that? I sighed as I sat back against a gnarled crabapple tree. I hadn’t even explained my answer, which would surely affect my score. Is that how I was going to behave during a chess match? Running out on my opponent? </p><p>Granddad’s disapproving face hovered in my mind. I had wanted to write him later that day, but now what was I to tell him? What could I say that wouldn’t disappoint him?</p><p>“ – melia?”</p><p>I started. Gemma was standing over me, panting. </p><p>“W-what are you doing?”</p><p>“Looking for you, of course!” </p><p>She knelt beside me, her brow scrunched, “Are you okay? What happened?”</p><p>“I’m fine,” I said miserably, my eyes drifting to the grass. I pulled up a small clump, then another, not knowing what else to say. Gemma settled against a trunk, quiet for once, watching me scatter the grass to the wind. I waited for her to say something, but when she didn't, I sighed.  “I don’t know. I don't know what happened. It doesn’t matter. I lost.”</p><p>“But you answered right!”</p><p>“At the very last second.”</p><p>“All the more suspenseful!”</p><p>I gave her a dark look.</p><p>“You heard what Professor Rosen said. Dreycott accepts only the best of the best. This was my chance to prove that.”</p><p>“You got the answer right. That’s what matters. It was a tricky one, too.” Her eyes gleamed with a far-off dreaminess, “Like a Sphinx riddle. Wasn’t Professor Xander amazing?”</p><p>“But it’s not only about getting the answer right,” I countered.</p><p>Gemma’s attention snapped back to me.</p><p>“What is it about?”</p><p>“I don’t know…” I pulled up another a patch of grass, “It’s about getting everything right. The presentation. How I answer. Explaining my answer. It all matters. Especially if I want to be a Solver.”</p><p>“I'm a Sealer.” Gemma watched me pull up more grass, ”I don't even know what it means really. Except we're the losers.”</p><p>I glanced up at her.</p><p>“What?” </p><p>Gemma shrugged.</p><p>“If you don't solve your riddle, they make you a Sealer. At least, that's what it seems like. We're the stupid ones.”</p><p>“Gemma! You're not – ” </p><p>“Oh, it's fine, Amelia." Gemma sounded as bright as she had all day, but her eyes had dulled, “Professor Xander tries to make it sound better than it is, too. You heard his speech. But I don't mind. I'm only here for the theatre after all.”</p><p>I didn't know what to say to this. For a long stretch of time we were quiet, both of us focused on the grass I continuously tugged up and set aside. I had a nice pile by the time a stream of students began to emerge from the auditorium.</p><p>“Well, that’s the end of it,” Gemma said, “You’ve done it and you never have to do it again."</p><p>I sighed. We watched the auditorium slowly empty out, students, teachers, Patrollers, and staff, fanning out across the grounds, most headed for the dining hall.  "Now you just have to wait for the results,” Gemma stood, brushing off her knees, “They usually announce them before…” She trailed off, fixated on something in the distance.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” </p><p>I followed her gaze back to the auditorium, where a solitary figure had emerged, far behind everyone else. Clive. I'd fallen through on my plan to find him after the Rite, but perhaps that was for the best. He'd seen me act like a weakling twice now.  Who knew if he'd even want to be friends anymore.</p><p>As if he'd caught wind of my thoughts, he glanced over his shoulder and then broke off from the main path, heading for a thick grove of trees. </p><p>“Sus! Gemma gasped, “Where do you suppose he’s going?”</p><p>I stood beside her.</p><p>“Taking a shortcut?”</p><p>“Where’s the imagination in that? What if he has some kind of secret rendezvous with a spirit? Or a hitman? We should follow him!”</p><p>“Gemma, wait – ” Before I could finish, she took off after him as he vanished into the grove. “Gemma!” I cried.</p><p>“C’mon!”</p><p>With a groan, I hurried her, wondering what else this day could drop at my feet. </p><p> </p>
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